


Weaver

by richardisroger91



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Ancient Roman Religion & Lore, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Ancient Greece, Gen, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richardisroger91/pseuds/richardisroger91
Summary: Arachne is proud, but Athena knows mercy.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	Weaver

Athena stands at the back of the small crowd in the agora. She hides herself in the form of an old woman, hunchbacked and greyed hair, in stark contrast to the fair woman around which the crowd gathered. The woman they surrounded was a merchant of cloth and tapestry, her face a pale oval surrounded by a dark velvet cloud of hair, Athena had seen uglier mortals, and a number of men around her stared at the merchant as though they’d never seen a woman of greater beauty. But it was the cloth and tapestries that really stole all of their attention. 

“Indeed, the gods themselves could not weave something so fine.” declared one of the men, holding out a tapestry. 

It was a forest scene depicting a great hunt, Looking at it, the goddess could practically hear the baying of the hounds, the wind stirring amongst the treetops, and the frantic breathing of a hart that knew it could not outrun its pursuers. The work was exquisite, with nary a knot or miscast thread. Athena was impressed; it had been a century or so since she’d seen a mortal gifted with such talent. Indeed, she was almost tempted to bestow a blessing on this woman, to increase her talents, but disturbing rumors about this weaver had reached her ears. 

“Yes,” cried out another woman. “You must be so thankful, Arachne, for this ability the gods have given you. Looking at your work makes one believe that you sat at the feet of Lady Athena herself and apprenticed.” 

Athena shouldered her way to the front of the crowd as Arachne smirked and haggled prices for her wares. 

“Indeed,” Athena opined “You must be in the temples daily to give thanks for such skills. Do you make offerings frequently to the goddess, dear child?” 

Arachne collected the coins for which she sold the admired tapestry. Turning to face the disguised goddess, she sneered. 

“Give thanks? But for what? For the talents that I myself struggled and learned in tedious repetition? For the dyes I make after hours of hunting and collecting the right herbs and plants? I design these masterpieces myself; no goddess has ever descended to raise a finger in the aid of my work. I give thanks to none but myself.” 

“But was it not the goddess herself who gave all mortals the gift of spinning and weaving? Who taught men to clothe and warm themselves? Is it not she who beseeched the Fates to grant the gift of weaving unto men so that they might better themselves? Does the goddess Athena not deserve thanks for that?” 

“Of such things I have no knowledge, Grandmother. All I know is the works of my own hands. If anyone should be giving thanks, Athena should be giving thanks to me!” 

“Thanks to you?!” 

“Indeed! Doesn’t the beauty and skill of my work cause the simple to give thanks to her, though she has done nothing to deserve them? She should thank me for the praise and prayers I inspire for her.” 

Athena’s eyes flash with anger. In her heart, a fire flared, but she tempered it back to offer a reprieve to the arrogant mortal.

“You walk in hubris, child.” she warned Arachne. “You do well to kneel before the gods and confess your sins before they take offense.” 

Arachne laughed in Athena’s face. 

“No god would dare to accuse me of arrogance, I speak only the truth. If the gods do anything, it ought to be to make me the new goddess of weaving for I weave better than Athena herself..” She shook her hair in laughter and scorn. 

Athena dropped her disguise. Dark clouds formed and swirled overhead as Athena towered over the mortal. The terrible screeching of an owl could be heard as her eyes flashed violently.. Arachne had collapsed to her knees, face pale with terror and slack jawed, 

“G-g-goddess,” she stammered out. She trembled like a small earthquake. “Forgive me! I beg your forgiveness for my wor-’

“Do not lie to me with your words now, foolish woman. I offered you the chance of repentance; I have heard the truths you treasure in your heart. Your own words give judgement of your hubris. By your words will I offer a reprieve. You say your weaving is better than mine? A contest then. At noon tomorrow, we shall meet here again, and we will both weave a tapestry. The citizens of this city will be the judges. If you are declared the winner, I will spare your life and permit you to weave a robe that I myself will wear at the next festival. But if I win, then your life is forfeit to me. Understood?” 

Arachne nodded. In a swirl of wind and thunder, Athena vanished leaving the crowd whispering and muttering, Arachne still spilled upon the ground. 

Noon the next day found the entirety of the city packed into the agora. Like a wildfire, the story of yesterday’s events had spread through the city. Everyone had turned out to see the contest of wills. Arachne set up her loom in silence. Her face was still pale, but her eyes were determined and set. She wore a simple black peplos patterned with red diamonds. She sat on a stool and unwound her yarn as she, and the city, waited for the arrival of the goddess. 

A small earthquake shook the city, and the goddess stood among them. 

“Well, weaver, are you ready?” 

Arachne did not meet Athena’s eye but nodded firmly. 

“And you’re ready to accept the judgement of this city, whether in your favor or not?” 

“Yes, Athena.” 

Arachne’s tone was steady. If she had any fears or doubts, none of the citizens could tell. 

Athena had no loom, but she pulled forth from the air a stool to sit upon, A spindle appeared at her side, but there was no yarn, The city whispered to one another about what Athena was thinking. No yarn, no loom, just a spindle without wool? Was she planning on throwing the contest in some show of pity towards Arachne? Knowing their thoughts, Athena smiled to herself. 

“Then let us begin, mortal. We have until sunset, at which time judgement will be rendered.”

Arachne began to weave her loom with yarns of palest lavender and darkest blue, Her hands scoured across the frame. Her eyes flickered just as frantically. A few inches had been woven before Athena even moved. 

The assembly gasped in awe as they witnessed Athena pull from the sky the very clouds into her hands. With a whisper, she called the colors from the surrounding plants to dye them. She spun faster than a whirlwind, creating a powerful breeze that tore awnings from their moors. 

Arachne was half way through her weaving and the sun far lower before Athena put thread to loom. Arachne’s tapestry was forming the picture of a sunset over hills and vineyards, the grapes clear and vivid and they looked fit to burst. The sunset was warm and welcoming; glancing at it, one could feel the rays caressing them and smell the soil and vines. Those who stood around her beheld it with amazement. 

But Athena’s weaving was vivid, and beautiful, and terrible to behold. Moment by moment, the images poured forth: scenes from the Titanomachy, the punishment of Tantalus, the castration of Cronus, and even the birth of Athena herself springing full grown from the head of Zeus. All who looked at Athena’s weaving found themselves enraptured and living in each scene. Her colors were brighter, more solid, and more real than any Arachne used. The weaving was more fine, the skill obviously far superior than Arachne’s, and all worried for the proud merchant as the sun began to reach the horizon. 

With a flourish Athena tucked in her last thread as the sun began to set. Arachne stepped back from her work, her head held high and hands clasped behind her back. With defiance she looked towards Athena. 

“The sun has reached its setting, goddess.” Her voice trembled but it was still proud. “Shall we see who has given the superior product?” 

“Townsmen! Friends!” she tossed her voice to the city. “Behold the works of my hands and the works of this goddess. Tell me, tell her, which of us has created the better tapestry.” 

Athena looked at the mortal woman and felt her heart stir with pity. Even now, in the face of clear defeat, the weaver refused to admit her hubris. To the end, she would go down fighting. 

The city crowded around the works and the debate could hardly be called such. Within minutes, a city leader stepped forward.

“My Lady Athena, Arachne, we have declared a winner.” 

“Who have you chosen, Elder?” Arachne asked. 

As one the city cried out: “Athena! Athena! Athena!” 

The elder nodded his head in agreement. 

Arachne’s shoulders slumped in defeat. With her eyes dashed with tears, she turned towards the Grey Eyed One. 

“My life is forfeit,” she announced quietly. “I am ready to accept my punishment. Do as you will.” 

Athena rose from her stool and stepped closer to the hunched woman. She still felt that pity for this broken and proud woman. 

“Yes, your life is mine,” she told her. “But it is not over.” 

Before the eyes of the city, Arachne began to shrink, Her cloak became one with her, covering her in a soft black fur with red spots. Legs sprouted, and her eyes multiplied. The city looked down in shock at what she had become. 

“Go forth, Arachne.” Athena declared. “Your work is indeed beautiful.You and your descendents will be the finest of weavers in all the natural world. Go forth, and weave.” 

All watched in silence as the spider scurried off, none noticing as Athena vanished from their midst. 


End file.
